Darkstone Code

Chapter 1064 - 1062: Who Can Define Right and Wrong?

"You should stand tall..."

Lynch whispered, "Look at these people in front of you, they’re actually not that remarkable."

"They, like you and me, are essentially no different. We’re all human, and all humans die."

"You’ve probably killed some people. The way and process of killing these people aren’t much different from how you killed others. They should fear you, the problem shouldn’t be with you."

Lynch’s words made Austin feel a bit better; a natural smile appeared on her face. "You’re quite good at comforting people."

"I’m just telling the truth!"

Today’s meeting was essentially a test by Horn. The fact that no one took issue with his probing was very good.

Once the Paradise Association is formally established, Horn will be able to harness more power and develop better.

He greedily enjoyed everything; he had been poor for so long. Now, it’s time for him to take revenge on his once-impoverished self.

The formation of the Paradise Association would happen next time; now it’s time for unbridled revelry.

The nearly naked girls and boys became one of the decadent flourishes here, and Horn even took everyone to see a very special show.

It was a cage. He would arrange for fighters to enter and compete. There were no laws here, no rules. Two people could come out together, or just one.

The winner would receive three percent of the total bet amount, and if it was less than fifty thousand, Horn would make up the difference.

The two fighters, one was a sports coach, the other a street thug. They were not professional fighters, not boxers, nor martial arts experts, just ordinary people.

It’s only when ordinary people face immense trouble that they fight desperately.

Those boxers, martial arts experts, they don’t belong to the ordinary class. Even when they encounter trouble, a match can’t resolve it.

On the contrary, fights between ordinary people are actually more entertaining and thrilling.

Two ordinary people, each with their reasons to win, began fighting.

They didn’t have any structured fighting style, not like professional fighters, offering a "technical" feel.

The two were just ordinary people in a brawl, a fight to the death.

They kept swinging their fists at each other’s noses, continuously using any part of their body that could cause harm to hit each other. Nosebleeds appeared first.

Then the thug’s eye corner split open, blood blurred his vision. He closed one eye and fiercely tugged at the other’s ear.

The sports coach’s ear was torn halfway, making him feel like a crab being steamed alive.

No rules, no time limit. Whoever can leave alive is the victor!

The audience’s emotions were highly aroused. The higher the society, the more the ruling class, the more they loved this kind of barbaric violence.

What they liked wasn’t just the savage sport, but the feeling of controlling others’ lives. They stood above, watching the ants struggle under their will.

The scene’s atmosphere grew increasingly intense. Someone even threw a wad of cash over the top of the cage.

Twenty-dollar bills scattered on the ground, stained red by the blood!

Most believed the sports coach could win in the end because of his better physique, stronger body, while the street thug was thin and weak.

He looked sickly, with a slightly frail frame that made one worry if the sports coach might punch through his torso with one blow!

The fight had continued for five or six minutes now.

It had gone from the initial most intense moments to something less so.

The sports coach knelt on one knee, continually pounding the thug’s head with his fists.

Just now, the thug had stepped on the cash and slipped.

The sports coach seized the opportunity, pounced over, and started bashing the thug’s head.

Each punch landed with a dull "thud," as if the platform and cage were trembling.

The punches weren’t actually that powerful. By now, the sports coach was exhausted, lactic acid prevented him from exerting his expected strength.

The last two punches were already somewhat weak.

Some audience members, those who had just appeared as upper-class elites, now seemed not so civilized.

They stood up, waving their tickets or cash, loudly shouting, "Kill him!"

The sports coach slowly stood up, gasping for breath, lifted his head, looking at those outside the cage, those wearing fancy clothes and waving cash.

For a moment, his eyes showed confusion.

Then he lowered his gaze, seeing the motionless street thug on the ground. Killing was unfamiliar to him.

He was just a sports coach, not an assassin, never having killed anyone.

But now he must kill this person to get a large sum of money to solve problems he had to fix.

It was a very difficult choice. He didn’t know how to start, snap his neck?

Or use his foot?

He wasn’t sure, maybe snapping the neck might be better. He didn’t know if he could do it, but he’d try his best.

When he grabbed the thug’s hair, preparing to lift him, the thug suddenly lunged forward, crashing into the sports coach.

He had rested for a moment; though dizzy, he knew that if he didn’t counterattack, he might die in the ring.

This pounce was the final burst.

He lunged onto the gym teacher, opened his mouth, and bit onto the gym teacher’s throat.

He had never used such force to tear at anything; he could feel something twisting, wailing, and making breaking sounds as he applied pressure with his teeth.

The gym teacher wanted to break free, but it was too late.

After the throat was bitten apart, a large amount of blood was generated from within, flooding inside, the continuously flowing blood suppressing the respiratory system, with some blood even choking into the lungs.

He had a strong urge to cough, as the lungs were crying for help.

But the thug never let go; his face flushed red, yet he couldn’t cough it out.

A hissing sound emitted from his wide-open mouth, with a weak flow of air being forcibly squeezed out.

He desperately used his fists to attack the person entangled with his body, his head, his side waist, his back, but that person just wouldn’t let go.

The strength of the fists grew weaker, weaker...

The six-foot-two gym teacher staggered a few steps before collapsing heavily to the ground!

Even at this moment, the thug didn’t open his mouth, he bit with a death grip, wanting to sever everything.

Around the ring suddenly fell into a dead silence; no one expected this final outcome, which precisely proved Horn’s correct choice.

The slaughter of ordinary people was more appealing and tragic than that of elite fighters.

The moves of elite fighters are deadly, perhaps for them, determining victory or defeat, life or death, is just a few strokes.

A punch to a lethal spot, or swiftly breaking someone’s neck isn’t of particularly high enjoyment.

Instead, the killing between ordinary people is exciting, bloody, and crazy.

After confirming that the gym teacher was dead, the medical team went up to separate the two, then carried them down.

In a certain sense, this match was actually legal.

Because both parties signed a waiver of liability before the match, they promised that regardless of life, death, or disability in the future, they would not hold anyone, any organization responsible.

As for why they had to determine life and death, that’s another matter.

"I feel a bit uncomfortable..." Austin was still somewhat unaccustomed to everything here.

To protect the Federation people’s safety, they fought at the borders against the smugglers, against the Mariluo warlord armed forces.

But within the Federation, those high-society figures cynically... trample on the dignity of human life.

She felt a strong discomfort.

Lynch nodded slightly, stood up, and casually handed his signed ticket to the waiter, "Transfer the money directly to my account."

After saying this, he and Austin left together.

The waiter looked at the signed ticket, puzzled, not understanding what this really meant.

It simply meant - cash in the signed ticket and transfer the money to Lynch.

Or if there was something else he didn’t understand.

Because the amount written on this signed ticket was only twenty dollars.

Even if the thug’s odds were very high initially, this ticket was only worth less than a hundred dollars in cash.

Leaving the fight arena, Austin strolled along the edge of the main square, "I don’t quite understand, Lynch."

"Why, even though you’re already so wealthy, do you still do disappointing things?"

This wasn’t her being naive, she genuinely did not understand.

Everything that happened here today was clashing with her worldviews, she didn’t quite grasp it.

Lynch, however, lit up a cigarette, walking and smoking, "When you only have one dollar, you just wish to fill your stomach."

"When you have only a hundred dollars, you hope to have a place to live."

"When you have more money, more desires naturally arise."

"For the people here, wealth, money, power are no longer their pursuit; they need to find a bit of excitement in their lives to remind themselves they’re still alive."

Austin remained silent, "But... there’s no need in such a way."

"I mean, they could help others."

Lynch was slightly surprised, "Why do you think they haven’t helped others?"

"Perhaps the gym teacher has a child with a terminal illness, or maybe the thug’s only relative is in trouble."

"They have reasons to get money, and rather than letting them cause bigger problems in society, maybe doing so is better."

Lynch flicked the ash of his cigarette, "I’m not saying it’s correct, only that when we look at issues, we need to see them from more angles."

"Just like those smugglers, they just want a stable and safe life, and you not only destroy their dreams of a good life, but even gave them a shot!"

"There was never right or wrong in this world from the beginning, that’s all defined by us."

"You know, things defined by thinking are like some unresolved mathematical equations, sometimes they go wrong!"